Chapter 42
Chapter 42
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 42
Chapter Title: The Man Who Became Light (2)
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"Remember me...? SKELTON. It's me, John_nenon."
They demanded verification.
It was only natural, but the moment I saw the authentication video, I felt a slight shock along with an inexplicable guilt.
"The Mark Seven Hummer that SKELTON requested. It's brand new... still sealed..."
I remembered going to John_nenon's offline meetup before the war.
He insisted on a strange fashion sense, wearing training clothes a size too small to show off his muscular build.
Come to think of it, he was about 183 cm tall.
In restaurants where you had to remove your shoes, he'd shrink by about 10 cm, but put them back on and he'd be 183 cm again.
With all that muscle, his weight must've been around 88 kg.
But that thing of his wasn't 18 cm, I don't think.
I vaguely remembered glancing at it once while standing side by side peeing at a bar, drunk off our asses—his wasn't particularly big...
But now, the boisterous guy who used to laugh and shout amid those people was gone forever.
The arm revealed in the video was gaunt, like only bones were left.
That extreme thinness didn't seem like just malnutrition—it felt caused by something else.
His hearty voice bellowing "One more bottle of soju!" was now a faint, shaky whisper, barely audible.
What had happened to him?
They dodged the answer.
All they wanted was to meet me.
I pulled my fingers from the keyboard for a moment and thought.
Going outside right now was incredibly dangerous.
Gunfire echoed intermittently from the north.
That meant skirmishes and standoffs were ongoing.
Who knew what lay beyond.
Just a year ago, friendly soldiers would provide info if you called their personal ID numbers. They were gone now.
I had to brave a familiar road that had become an unknown danger zone alone.
But sitting idle while the corrosion spread would mean death or madness for me and everyone around me.
Asking U Min-hee for help would secure immediate safety.
But she wouldn't leave me alone.
She'd cook up some excuse to drag me out of the bunker and throw me into the meat grinder.
"..."
It was a tough choice.
Risking death in an hour to avoid certain death in a year.
Still, I preferred struggling over sitting and dying.
Besides, I was confident I could somewhat control the dangers outside.
The answer was set.
Click.
Time to meet my role model.
But the sun hadn't set yet.
With drones buzzing around constantly, moving in broad daylight was suicidal.
I logged into the community to kill time until dusk.
Not a single positive comment.
All of them mocked or cursed him. No one mentioned his merits.
This was the board's consensus, but I felt a twinge of disappointment.
"...John_nenon was a good guy."
Yeah, he did plagiarize without permission.
Yeah, he made a fortune off the board.
But wasn't his info useful?
Everyone must've picked up a tip or two from what he translated.
Plus, whenever there was construction or whatever, he'd call pros himself and get our needs handled quick.
Who else would provide that service?
John_nenon.
No one else ever stepped up for others like that.
But reality was harsh.
No one forgave him. No one remembered his contributions, overshadowed by his faults.
Was that why?
Why our twisted hero stayed silent all that time.
What thoughts ran through his head over those long years?
Preparing a flashy comeback?
Or quiet revenge?
Neither seemed likely.
Eternal silence might've been his chosen end.
I left the bunker at twilight.
Temperature was 1°C above zero.
The sky was thick with storm clouds.
Rain or snow was coming.
Feeling the warmth of the hot pack on my chest, I pedaled quietly.
Outside was pitch black, but I knew this road well.
Even starlight outlining the terrain let me gauge my position. I descended steep slopes with minimal braking.
A stream appeared.
Pretty deep river.
Biking in would soak up to my hips.
A bit further, farmers had piled gravel into a path.
Hard to see in the fast current, but a stone cairn marked the entrance.
I used it as a guide and entered the stream.
The wheels sank a little.
Splash!
Gunfire as I followed the road.
I dismounted and bypassed it.
From a low hill, I checked the source.
Pioneers.
The folks who'd shown at the golf course then vanished. They'd barricaded with wrecked cars and planks, firing across the road.
Another group opposite.
Jo Sung-yong's gang?
Most likely.
Passing the hill into the fields, I confirmed.
Not Jo Sung-yong's crew shooting back.
"Fire! Fire! Bastards! Kill 'em all!"
"Over there! Yong-su's dad isn't breathing!"
"Hot water! We need to disinfect!"
"When's the pioneer squad coming?!"
Just ordinary neighbors like us.
People I'd ridden the subway with once, shopped at the mart, brushed past on the avenue—now split into factions, killing each other for reasons even they didn't know.
I pressed straight into the darkness.
No more threats after.
Ambush spots likely for raiders were empty. The highway, a graveyard of abandoned vehicles, showed no raiders.
The real threat came from the sky.
Whoosh—
Torrential rain poured.
Cold rain in 2°C weather was a deadly disaster.
I hunkered in an abandoned bus, lit a fire, donned a poncho, and battled moisture, heat, cold, and misery—four foes.
To stay awake, I dry-swallowed caffeine pills.
"..."
Soon as rain stopped, I mounted and raced the wet road.
Reached Seoul at dawn, just as the sun peeked.
Bike speed made it possible.
On foot, three days—or more in this mess.
Pulled out the memo from my pocket and checked.
[Next to the broken signal tower. At the stall with the FAIL sign, tell the guy in glasses you're John_nenon.]
On the street named after some Middle Eastern capital, survivors hawked junk at a shoddy market.
Dead electronics, rusted kettles, burst comforters, crumpled paper, firewood bundles—nothing fancy like luxury goods or jewels.
Contrary to belief, luxuries still had demand.
The well-off snatched them all.
Security decent; National Assembly soldiers patrolled the market.
I walked, bike in hand, savoring human bustle for once.
Bang!
Gunfire from the east, not far.
Legion faction turf.
A fight breaking out now?
Glancing nervously, I saw I was the only one startled here.
Everyone went about calmly—haggling, browsing, even pickpocketing.
An old lady selling mugwort yawned lazily.
As if gunfire was just part of life.
Swallowing my shock, I found the stall on the memo.
[FAIL]
Crude sign scrawled in marker on cardboard. Beneath, a gaunt man in taped-together broken glasses sold computer parts.
Approached and whispered low.
"Looking for John_nenon."
He eyed me.
"Nickname?"
"SKELTON."
Glasses guy beckoned someone.
A legless man wrapped in blankets hobbled over quick on crutches.
"Watch the shop. Gotta step out."
He pulled up his hood.
"This way."
"Yeah. But east?"
More gunfire from the east.
I startled; he replied calmly.
"Yep."
He led to a bland concrete apartment forest east of the market.
Beyond, a tower spearing the sky half-collapsed.
Thud!
A chunk plummeted, booming dust.
Before dust cleared—
Bang! Bang!
Two shots from the complex.
No doubt.
The gunfire I'd heard.
I glanced warily at the complex; he wiped his glasses with a cloth and spoke.
"Across there's Legion faction turf."
"Fighting who? National Assembly?"
"Nah. Infighting. Started with stars vs. stars, now mugunghwa vs. mugunghwa. Rhombuses next, probably."
"What're National Assembly doing?"
"Watching. They'll self-destruct without help."
He took me to an old commercial street beyond the apartments. Familiar.
My old teammate Gong Kyung-min had dragged the team here, promising killer eats.
Never found it, settled for a plain Chinese joint that blew our minds.
"Park Gyu, how long you gonna hide? They're special, chosen by God. Sure, pre-Awakening they were less than our toenail clippings—but times change. Drink up. Worrying won't fix our doomed fate."
Gong Kyung-min gone now, team scattered.
That Chinese place lost forever.
Bang!
Gunfire shattered the hazy memory—from ahead.
Wind like death's whisper grazed my ear; ricochet behind.
We dove, crawled to cover.
Muddy rainwater from night's rain forced into my mouth; I spat and asked.
"What?"
Glasses guy seemed immune before, but now he was spooked too.
Back to wall, panting, he tried deep breaths.
"Fuck if I know. Was fine yesterday. Shit, living day-to-day sucks."
"Legion?"
"Could be civilians."
"Why would they?"
"Shoot first, ask later. That's the hood."
Armed folks hostile to everything now.
I thought of sniper Rebecca, then dismissed it.
Intense firefight erupted in the complex; suddenly a tank appeared, cannon aimed.
"..."
We crossed the violence-stained streets to our goal.
"Here."
A crumbling 3-story mansion.
At least 50 years old; faded "Congrats on Redevelopment" banner fluttered sadly.
John_nenon was in the basement.
"This way."
Stepping down, rats scurried.
Deeper than expected.
He lit a lantern on endless stairs and spoke.
"This complex? Built in military dictatorship as a disguised command bunker for war. Top's rotting flats; bottom's special."
Time to ask.
"Heard you're his subordinate. What's the exact relation?"
He stopped.
Not for my question.
A cheap locker like in bathhouses ahead.
He opened it—radiation suit.
Same maker as mine, higher model.
Handed one over.
"Subordinate. Or follower?"
"Follower?"
"Yeah. For real. John_nenon's the man."
His voice weak, but sincere.
Donning his suit, he murmured staring afar.
"...America's got Melon Mask; Korea's got John_nenon."
"That so...?"
John_nenon comparable to Viva! Apocalypse! founder Melon Mask?
Overreach.
That guy built trillions in wealth by 40s, global influence—a legendary conman tycoon.
Vs. a guy banned from the board for trash talk?
No way.
Even I, pro-John_nenon, couldn't agree.
"Suit up."
"Why?"
"You'll see inside."
He suited up, lit the far wall—reinforced concrete, lead door sealed center.
"John_nenon's in there."
Followed him through.
Room dim.
Bed in gloom; someone lay, arm dangling.
Odd glow on arm—not from it, but blinking medical device under bed.
Suited guy shook the bed guy.
"Boss! Boss! SKELTON's here. Wake up!"
The man on death's door sat up with help.
Bones and red plague spots everywhere; hollow eyes met mine.
As he tried smiling, I knew.
Hardly any teeth left.
"...SKELTON."
Slurred speech.
Remembered the muscled guy from the cheap BBQ joint.
Gone forever, like everything else.
Like that Chinese place.
One question left.
Why did this dying man seek me?
Why crave a relic like me so desperately?
"No."
Then it clicked.
John_nenon knew me.
"Professor...!!"
The other me behind the SKELTON mask.
One mystery birthed another.
Since when?
Last meetup I attended—John_nenon trying to tell me something. It flashed like a dream.
"Ah."
From then?